He purses his full lips, and holding the leveled book near, blows. 

You watch the fine limestone dust disperse in trails of smoke-like powder that dance in the flickering candlelight. It trails down to the old wooden table, and you see it collect on the thumbs of his white archival gloves as the field lead places the book down gently. 

The cover, you notice, has once been meticulously crafted. Indentations on its surface show evidence of carefully fastened features. A faint outline of what looks to be a flying creature has been pressed into the edges of the book block. 

“Perhaps gilded at some point.” He stutters through a voice raspy from a dry throat. You direct your attention to the tip of his hardwood excavation tool, which now hovers over a few indentations on the cover. 

“This is the symbol known as “F”, followed here, by the symbol “O”.” He pauses, gently clearing his throat of dust and continues. “You can see here, on the next line down the symbol “C”, or possibly a “G”.” He traces the letters in the air above the cover for you to follow. A careful training method you appreciate this lead takes with you.

"With much of the book’s exterior having been lost to elements, creatures, and ultimately, time, there isn’t much left to discover with the naked eye." He explains, as he shifts his footing on the smoothed limestone flooring. "Though, our equipment can pick up any additional subtleties we might be missing." He rolls his shoulders and cocks his neck, stretching it, trying to relief the tension of being cramped in such a small pace. You, on the other hand dwarfed by him by a good five feet are standing comfortably and practically shaking with excitement, the thought of using the scanners back at the lab sends you buzzing.

You swallow at the dry lump in your throat, as your mind ponders the time that has passed since anyone has opened this very book. Let alone felt the details of its cover before relishing its opening. The possibilities of the knowledge it holds is beyond fathomable. You inhale the dank dusty air sharply at a sudden thought. Could this really be the proof you’ve been looking for?

“Could this lead to evidence of their existence?” Your eyes are aflame with that thrilling thought as you watch your field leader, hunched, with delicate handwork, meticulously reviewing the cover. 

“That is the hope, yes. Such a place like this…” He gestures to the cave you stand in. It appears to have been a dwelling of some kind. “… are hypothesized in recently published documents as being some of their last holdouts before their extinction.” 

“If there was an extinction.” You clarify not to correct, but to ensure your understanding. “We have yet to prove they were more than a creation of the mind.” You're grounding yourself in reality. Until proven otherwise, and he nods in agreement. 

You realize you're biting your lip in anticipation and try to relax yourself as you lean in and watch. The spine creaks as he guides the cover up and open. Noting his gentle nature your hands move in mimicry of his, as he reveals the first page.

"It's surprisingly intact." He smiles, adjusting the eyewear to analyze the smaller text. You watch, eyes wide and absorbing though ignorant of the language, so you’re forced to wait for his analysis. As he fumbles with his equipment.

“Hrmph” he grunts suddenly. Then without another word, he grips a large group of pages and flips to the back of the book. There’s a moment as he analyzes the visible text, his eyes trailing back and forth in succession, before suddenly going wide. His brow furrows and his lip curls in what looks to you as repulsion. He leans back ridge and stiff-backed, closing the book with a thump in the process. You pull back in surprise, concerned with the carelessness in which he risks the integrity of these findings. 

“What is it?” Your words come out heavy with held breath. “Did we—” your excitement begins to creep in. “Is it proof?” The book lays closed, yet lighter, its pages having breathed for the first time in what must have been centuries. 

“No.” he says sharply and pulls the eyewear from his face. Immediately he's turning, crouching low to navigate back towards the cave entrance. “Bag it for further analysis.” He huffs out rubbing at his tired face as he leaves. “We can add it to the others.”

“Others? Do we possess this text already?” You kneel and pull out a pair of archival gloves and a sterile specimen bag from your pouch. 

“We do.” He rubs at a spot along his neck but makes the effort to turn towards you. Eyes squinty and tired from strain. “We have many books like this. They have been linked to another confirmed race that we believe lived alongside humans, and therefore knew their language, they have long left this planet. It appears they frequently created stories of humans that are written for their own enjoyment.” 

Before he’s able to take his leave, you catch him. “What kind of stories?”

He sighs “They are…" his arms wave about as he tries to find the appropriate words. "...most displeasing, fowl even. Be grateful you have yet to master this language. Your naivety keeps you from these words that disgrace the image of humans. We wish to preserve their true nature, an image we wish to prove real someday.” With these last few words, he leaves.

Left alone in the darkness of the cave you begin your work by candlelight. The silence is defining and your flesh bumps with excitement as you feel the coolness of your stone surrounds. With gentle movements you slip your archival gloves over your bare skin. You relish the opportunity to perform your work, so you take your time to enjoy every moment of it. When you reach for the bag you stop, suddenly intrigued by your lead’s final words. You can’t help but take a closer look. From within your pouch, you pull out your eyewear and slip them up the bridge of your nose. With careful hands you mimic the lead's thoughtful movements and open the cover. 

Fingering your eye piece for precision of image you press the release and snap a picture. A quick look behind, tells you that you're still alone here. Emboldened, you trace your fingers along the book block and grasping with confidence turn to the back of the book. With careful adjustments to your lenses, you take a series of images of a few pages before proceeding with the sealing of the book for transport. 

***

Strapped in the thopter you hold onto the crate that contains the book. Your eyewear sits atop the bridge of your nose as it flips through the series of images you’ve taken. You’re trying to remember some of your human language training, but a sigh escapes you when the file returns to the first photo of the series. No matter how long you strain your memory those symbols have yet to take on meaning. Your fingers grip the box as you consider this finding. Something tells you that this book is far more important than believed, an expression of an important aspect of human culture that has possibly long been regarded as frivolous and unimportant. 

You catch your lead’s eyes lingering on the box, his tired way over-burdening his otherwise youthful appearance. He lowers his gaze when he catches you watching. At that moment you’ve accepted the challenge that arises in your mind, and you pull the box closer towards you. You’ll prove one day that humans did exist and even further that books like this were more important than originally believed.

The thopter's blades hum deep and loud as the team is taken back to base. The walls of the cargo hold vibrate and your seat bounces, the buckles of your straps rattling. You're jostled by the turbulence, yet you smile. You smile, because you have research to do. Your lead catches you mid-thought and gives you a curious look, the edges of his lips curling into a genuine smile. At the edges of your vision the image from your eyewear remains open, where the human symbols sit waiting to be read.

F o u r t h W i n g